A Typical Christmas Eve
by Hebbe484
Summary: Set during Prisonser of Azkaban, this story shows Albus Dumbledore and Minvera McGonagall's POV of the events happeneing at Hogwarts. It explores how the staff would typically hvve spent Christmas Eve in the castle. Rated T because no one under 13 should really read it.
1. Chapter 1

A common tawny barn owl flew through the many towers dodging the gusts of flakes which threatened to tear the feathers from its wings. Attached to its talons was a rather think envelope addressed with scribbles of faded black ink. Knowing the all too familiar route, the owl circled around a particular tower gliding downward in a spiraling fashion in search of its final destination. The owl came upon a beautifully candle lit stain glass window. Though the owl knew the recipient of the letter lay just beyond the ornate glass, it couldn't get through. It began to peck at the widow in hopes that the receiver would hear.

A man sat behind his desk in his high-back armchair. His eyes were closed in silent contemplation as the tips of his fingers met just against his chin as if in prayer. Papers littered his desk and a worn hawk quill say lazily in a tiny bottle of ink, angled perfectly to grab at a moment's notice. Behind him laid shelves upon shelves of leather-bound tomes of various size, color, and style. Scattered across the room in front of him were little trinkets of silver and gold. The whirling and buzzing of the instruments were the perfect remedy for a distressful day. He concentrated on the sounds that enveloped his hearing. The clicking of the miniature Astronomy clock, the humming of his personal whirly-gig, the swishing of a Muggle contraption, and a creaking of metal against metal dominated the sounds reverberating across the room.

The man sank deeper into his chair. He didn't want to admit it, least of all to himself, but he would soon overcome with exhaustion, and it was barely the lunch hour. The Ministry, as it was so prone to do, had been interfering at Hogwarts and caused more trouble than help. Fudge had certainly outdone himself this year sending the aid of the dementors. So far, they had managed to terrorize the students upon their arrival, restricted their liberties beyond imagination, caused many practical jokes (particularly from the Slytherins), lowered the morale of everyone within the castle, and, most grievous of all, they hadn't protected the students from the threat of Sirius Black. With the assault on the Fat Lady, many of the students, including some of the staff, developed the annoying habit of glancing behind them at every available moment. Through no sign of the murderous assailant had been spotted within the castle since, everyone became, if at all possible, more paranoid.

These were the thoughts which ran through the headmaster's mind when the pecking began. Barely audible to the headmaster in his rumination, he did not respond to the pecking. The pecking became more insistent and harsh with each passing moment. It was only when the owl shattered a small section of the window pane did the headmaster's eyes snap open. As the tinkle of shattered glass mixed with the hum of the room, the headmaster groaned softly while massaging the bridge of his nose. The owl, however, did not particularly prefer the deadly cold and proceeded to break more glass panes.

The man sighed audibly before making his way to the window, his joints screaming in protest. He unlocked the hatch and granted entry to the bird. From his perch, Fawkes snapped his beak at the onslaught of cold and moved to hide his head beneath his wing. The messenger owl fluttered to the headmaster's desk and watched as the man repaired the window with a lazy wave of his hand. He stiffly made his way back to his chair where the owl outstretched its leg and the parcel it carried to him. The headmaster sat before untying the envelope and feeding the owl a small biscuit. He frowned slightly at the recognizable scribbled handwriting before opening the envelope.

Unfolding the piece of parchment, he read:

_Dumbledore,_

_In light of recent events, I have deemed it all too necessary to send more dementors to Hogwarts for further protection. It is all too clear that the security that Hogwarts once had does not seem to be a reliable as it once was. I know of your disposition to dementors, which is the only reason I did not send a larger amount at the beginning of term. Yet the Ministry, nor I, can ignore the attack on the Fat Lady. The safety of Hogwarts' students must be kept in mind._

_I would also like to…_

It was here Dumbledore stopped reading. How could Fudge possibly believe sending more dementors would stop Sirius Black? Wasn't it already cleat that they seem to have no effect of the man as he had already slipped past them twice? And what of the students? Could they possibly handle the presence of more soul sucking monsters?

Dumbledore's mind drifted towards Harry as was of habit lately. Of course, he had been affect more so by the dementors and quite understandably. Young Harry's first encounter ended in his unconsciousness as the painful memories of his past undoubtedly came rushing back to him in that moment. Then, during one of his Quidditch games, he fell hundreds of meters after a swarm of those bests found their way to the Quidditch field. He could still recall the fury that swelled in his chest when he saw the boy free-fall with the dementors teeming above him. And, to top it off, Harry was the primary target for Black. The boy, Dumbledore had no doubt, must have discovered this fact during this term, and it most assuredly added to the list of worries that must be flooding his mind.

If only he could have protected the boy. He had already been put in far too many life threatening situations that an outsider would most defiantly believe him to be an omen. It was not the poor boy's fault, however. He certainly could have intervened on many of these occasions, but something within him wanted to see what Harry could do. He had tried to give Harry as normal an up-bringing as he could, hoping beyond all doubt that he could extend his innocence and childhood. But it seemed, through all his efforts, Harry was still forced to take on a maturity most of his classmates would not discover until their mid-twenties. If only he could…

But Dumbledore never finished the thought as the owl, becoming annoyed at the headmaster's reluctancy to continue reading the letter, nipped at him drawing a bit of blood. Dumbledore jerked his hand back to examine his knuckles before eying the bird. Gently lifting the owl onto his arm, he headmaster made his way out of his office. He would finish reading Fudge's letter after lunch when he felt he would have more patience for the Minister and his nonsense.

As he made his way down the staircase, Dumbledore noticed the rigid stance of one of his colleagues.

"Minerva?" he questioned as he came closer. He must have startled her as she jerked slightly at her name. She turned to face him, and he noticed the merest hint of a glazed expression fading in her eyes.

"Dumbledore!" she gasped slightly at the headmaster, still recovering from her initial shock.

"Might I ask what you are doing?" he inquired.

"I could ask you the same," she responded her eyes indicating the owl on his forearm.

"I'm merely taking this lovely creature to the Owlery where it can eat and rest before I send it back with my currently unfinished reply," Dumbledore answered.

"I see," she nodded.

Not allowing her to change the subject, he pushed, "You have yet to tell me what you were doing, my dear."

"I was admiring the artwork," she said simply with the faintest shrug, a most uncharacteristic motion for the Transfiguration professor.

"Minerva, you have been in this castle for decades. Surely you have become acquainted with every painting in this staircase by now."

"You would think so. Yet I find it refreshing to, as some Muggle-borns have to elegantly put it, 'stop and smell the roses.'"

"So you were imagining the scent of those flowers in Lady Farrimore's painting? Dumbledore indicated to the picture McGonagall had been to intent on earlier, a small twinkle caught in his eye.

McGonagall's lips thinned slightly. "No, headmaster. I was studying the many details of the flowing fields and grasses of green in contrast to the lavender ripples of Lady Farrimore's robes and the individual brushstrokes laced with magical aura. The fact that the painting happens to contain roses has nothing to do with my previous comment," she said rather coolly. "In addition to admiring the paintings, many of the portraits are quite pleasant and I enjoy have an occasional conversation with some."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at this. "I would never have considered you the type to gossip, Minerva, least of all with portraits."

Surprisingly, her lips did not thin when she retorted, "I don't approve of gossip, Albus. Besides, many of the portraits have been here for centuries. Even you'd be amazed at what has happened in these corridors. Additionally," she leaned in closer as she said in a low voice, "they have told me of certain passageways that have helped me move around the castle with more stealth."

Dumbledore chuckled at his colleague. "I have always wondered how you managed to catch so many students out of bed."

"Well, I am on good terms with many of the portraits," she said with a sly smile. "Perhaps once in a while they tip me off on an unruly student or rogue when I'm on night duty."

Dumbledore openly laughed at his discovery as McGonagall burst into a broad grin, a sight not many of her students were privileged to witness.

"Oh my dear," Dumbledore said wiping a small pool of teats collecting at the corner of his eye, "I never knew how like your Animagus form you really are." He clapped her gently on the back saying, "Would you mind accompanying me to the Owlery? I would very much like to hear more about those secret corridors the portraits have kept hidden from me."

"Certainly Albus." She fell easily in step with him down the staircase. "One I find most intriguing is the one hidden behind Sir Kenneth the Friendly Elf. I'd never realized just how long a journey it was from Ravenclaw Tower to the Astronomy."

They walked together casually, acknowledging the 'good afternoons' and 'Happy Christmas Eves' from a few students they passed. The castle was rather quiet that Christmas as only a small group of students stayed for the holiday break. It was astonishing the two professors passed so many students on their way to the grounds.

Once they stepped out of the Entrance Hall and into the bone-chilling winter air, McGonagall took the liberty of transfiguring tiny spheres of heat and placing them in a jar (which she conjured out of thin air) for her and Dumbledore to huddle next to. The weather was bearable except for the whipping gusts which constantly threatened to carry McGonagall's pointed witch's hat away. The trudge to the Owlery went surprisingly fast despite the ankle deep snow. The two professors ascended the icy steps to the Owlery. On the fourth step from the final landing, Dumbledore missed his footing almost causing him to fall, crush the messenger owl he was still carrying, and pull McGonagall with sown with him. After the initial shock of his almost accidental death, Dumbledore laughed heartily causing his colleague to join him.

"I must say, I'm dreadfully sorry for almost crushing you, Minerva," the headmaster apologized as McGonagall closed the door behind them.

"There's no need, Albus," she replied. "The look on your face was most entertaining."

He chuckled as he could only imagine what expression had flashed on his face during his fall. Dumbledore made his way across the Owlery, each step he took marked by the sound of tiny bones crunching beneath his feet.

McGonagall's brows narrowed in disgust. "This place really is filthy, Albus. How often does Filch come to tidy up?"

"I'm afraid, my dear," he sighed as he gave the owl a treat," that Argus only cleans up here during the summer holidays. Far less owls coming and going form the school you see." He turned and walked back to her, noticing she hadn't taken a stop since entering the tower.

"It's rather disgusting," she whispered more to herself than Dumbledore.

"I believe it is essential to have a touch of disgust in life. How else would we know what cleanliness is?" he stated whimsically with a smile.

"Yes, yes, I understand," McGonagall waved dismissively at him whilst rolling her eyes. "It is impossible to have balance without opposites. Without filth, there cannot be cleanliness, courage without fear, love without hate, light without dark, and good without evil. Without one, we could not understand the true beauty or horror of the other. It is essential to have an appropriate mixture of polar opposites to obtain true balance within the world or perhaps, more importantly, within one's self."

"My dear professor, I doubt I could have phrased it any better."

She fixed her gaze on Dumbledore. "Oh, I'm positive you would have been far more poetic with exquisite prose and eloquence in your explanation," she said as she held the door open.

"You flatter."

"I appreciate."

Their eyes met. The ever present twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to be infectious as a spark lit in McGonagall's eyes. Each grinned and turned to make the voyage back to the castle wrapping their wool cloaks tightly to them and huddling near the comfort of the hovering jar.

"You seem to be in a very chipper mood, Minerva. One might even say the Christmas spirit had finally snagged after years of being a scrooge," Dumbledore joked.

"I've never been a scrooge. I merely disapprove of the lack of control during the holiday. Perhaps you're right though; my mood has become more pleasant."

The headmaster nodded at his small victory.

"Yet, as we were just discussing, there cannot be good without the bad," she pushed. Dumbledore has the feeling he trapped himself into an inquisition.

"I take it that owl carried unpleasant news," McGonagall murmured losing some of the cheer in her voice.

"How can you be so sure, my dear?" Dumbledore feigned innocence.

"Had it been anything by unpleasant, your reply would be finished and strapped to that owl already on its way back to, most likely, London," she finished.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Very astute, Minerva. Your logic has bested me once again."

"May I ask what the letter is about?" she pressed.

"You may."

She waited for him to continue, but noticed a small twitch at the corner of his mouth and his eyes brighten.

"Very clever, Albus," she mocked. "Allow me to rephrase: What did the letter say?"

His eyes dimmed as Dumbledore began to focus on his feet trudging along. "I received a letter from the Minister."

McGonagall gave a small snort. "It seems it is far worse than I previously expected," she hissed.

"Aren't you being a bit catty, my dear?" Dumbledore asked with a furtive glance at the woman.

"You know full well I no less than despise that man, Albus. Fudge has absolutely no backbone and a lack of confidence, two qualities that a Minister of Magic must possess in my professional opinion. Personally, he is simply a git." McGonagall growled in response.

Dumbledore continued, "I do believe you two were once on friendlier terms. Would you care to remind me of how such an acquaintance soured?"  
But McGonagall wouldn't be easily distracted. "Do not attempt to change the subject, Albus," she ended in an accusatory voice.

"You are a stubborn woman."

"Thank you."

He smiled despite himself. He paused slightly in hopes the professor may drop the subject as a lost cause, yet she gave no sign of relenting. "It appears the Minister will be sending more dementors to guard the castle in response to the recent attack on the Fat Lady."

"That pompous, impetuous fool! How dare he believe more of those beasts could be beneficiary to the protection of this school? Can he honestly think any good could come of those things floating about?" McGonagall all but shrieked.

"I agree with you in every way, my dear," Dumbledore answered gravely. "But as it seems Black has already breeched our defenses, I believe Fudge feels the need to help/ It would be almost devastating to the credibility of the Ministry to not interfere with the protection of Hogwarts' students. I wouldn't be surprised if some parents had removed their children from the school if the Ministry didn't do something."

"Of course you're right Albus," McGonagall shook her head, "but what of the students and the staff? We are already feeling some of the effects of the dementors. I can't imagine how much more we could take if Fudge sent more. You're the Headmaster for Merlin's sake! Couldn't you do something else?" She gazed at him eyes wide and nostrils flared.

"Alas," Dumbledore sighed, "I don't think I will be able to convince the Minister this time, if the past is any indication," he referred to the beginning of term in which Dumbledore and Fudge had a heated argument about first allowing dementors onto the school grounds.

McGonagall remained silent in defeat. The hush lingered for a while until McGonagall asked, "And what of Potter?"

Dumbledore bowed his head. "My dear professor, I believe there is no more we can do for the boy. As I understand it, Professor Lupin has agreed to teach Harry the Patronus Charm. From what the professor has told me, the boy has a natural ability for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"You know I was not referring to the effects of the dementors on Potter," McGonagall said flatly.

"Yes I know."

She glared at the headmaster. "Does he know? About Black I mean."

"I'm sure he managed to connect the facts or at least has listened in on a conversation he probably wasn't supposed to hear," he shot a knowing glance towards McGonagall.

"That could very well be," McGonagall agreed not fully understanding why Dumbledore glanced at her. She had never said anything to the boy. In fact, the last time she spoke of such things was the last visit to Hogsmede, which she knew for a fact Potter was unable to visit. She decided to ignore the accusatory look. "But does he know Black is his godfather?"

"That I cannot say," Dumbledore answered inwardly smiling to himself.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "It's terrible to think Harry's legal guardian betrayed his parents. It's despicable," she almost spat.

"I do not believe everything is as it seems." McGonagall simply looked at him. "It always struck me as odd that Black, a man who despised his family, Voldemort, and who was devoted to his friends, especially James, would suddenly fall prey to the Dark Arts, betray the Potters, and kill one of his friends. Perhaps there is more beneath the surface."

McGonagall simply nodded. "Again, that may be, but it does not explain why Black is so determined to get to Potter."

"I don't know, Minerva. I don't know," Dumbledore shook his head.

They walked in silence again.

"Well," McGonagall broke in, "It seems this conversation has dimmed my cheerful spirit."

She walked a few paces before she realized the empty space to her right. She stopped abruptly at her discovery and looked around for her now lost companion.

"Minerva!"

She whipped around at the sound of her name only to have a wad of snow make contact just below her left breast. Stunned, McGonagall stood gaping at Dumbledore. He stood a few meters away, cradling a slowly melting snowball in his hand. She could detect a glimpse of a broad smile forming, but it was obvious he was resisting the urge.

"What are you doing?" McGonagall asked, still unable to believe what just happened.

"It appears you are right about your holiday cheer abandoning you," he answered playfully.

"So you find that grounds to throw a ball of snow at me?" She placed her fists on her hips as her lips began to thin severely.

"I find that a good-natured snowball fight helps one release frustrations and remind one of the simple pleasures from youth."

"I never resorted to such nonsense as a child," McGonagall retorted standing a bit rigid.

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded, tossing the ball in the air and catching it," but you were no ordinary child as I recall, Minerva. I don't believe you were capable of such merriment when you were my student." He abandoned his attempt to mask his smile as he watched the spark in her eyes ignite.

Hermione was making her way to the Gryffindor Common Room, the echoes of her footsteps the only sound in the corridors. Normally, she wouldn't be at the castle this time of year, but Hermione's parents decided to visit an estranged aunt, and she didn't feel much like making the journey to the continent. Her parents understood and even advised her not to come (said aunt despised Hermione for being an 'odd' child). So, she found refuge within the walls of Hogwarts, or more specifically, the walls of its library. Hermione had finished her homework ages ago and had begun to catch up on her reading. Though it was time she met up with Harry and Ron before going down to the Great hall for the lunch hour, she didn't want to part with her book on impractical charms. Madame Pince, however, refused to let said book leave the confinements of the Library. She did promise to hold the book for Hermione so she could finish after lunch. So, it was with a little spring in her step that she climbed the tower steps.

Movement from the corner of her eye made Hermione stop to look out of the window. She spotted two figures making their way back from the Owlery. If she squinted, she could identify the figures as Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. A smile escaped her lips as she watched the two professors huddle closer over some floating jar that was probably radiating heat. She was about to turn from the window when she noticed the figure of Professor Dumbledore had stopped to scoop down. Hermione gasped in horror as she saw the tiny ball of snow fly through the air and hit Professor McGonagall square in the chest. She could make out the playful grin on Professor Dumbledore's face.

Part of Hermione wanted to turn away before she became witness to the Headmaster's murder, but the other part couldn't resist the urge to watch the Transfiguration professor transform him into a slug. She stood frozen to the spot in anticipation as she held her breath. Then, Hermione's face twisted into an expression of shock mixed with glee as she released her breath. She watched as McGonagall crouched down and retaliated with a well-aimed snowball to Dumbledore's stomach. Then, both professors were running around the grounds throwing and dodging snowballs.

Hermione leaned against the window's ledge and watched the battle unfold beneath her. Somehow, Dumbledore had managed to construct a small, makeshift barrier between himself and McGonagall. He had succeeded in hitting the professor on a couple occasions, but it seemed each snowball that made contact with his target, McGonagall would hit him with three as a result. It appeared she had the upper-hand in the battle. That all changed when Dumbledore transfigured a small army of three snowmen to attack Professor McGonagall. She had taken refuge behind her own makeshift barrier. Dumbledore was laughing profusely, somewhat doubled-over no doubt from the stitch in his side. Hermione giggled to herself when she saw McGonagall flick something out of her robes and slowly faded into nothingness. A little over a minute passed before Dumbledore ordered his snowmen to cease fire. She watched as he said something inaudible to her. A confused look crossed the headmaster's face when he didn't seem to get the response he wanted or a response at all.

Suddenly, McGonagall materialized right behind Dumbledore. He whipped around, but was pushed to the ground as McGonagall gave him a hefty shove. Hermione's giggles proved harder to control as she saw her headmaster land spread-eagled in the snow. It was now McGonagall who was laughing profusely as she made to run from him. She didn't get far, however, as Dumbledore's hand reached out and got a firm grip on her ankle. McGonagall tripped and landed on all fours in the snow net to Dumbledore. McGonagall obviously had not been expecting to be tripped, so Dumbledore took advantage of her confusion and jumped at her. He grabbed her waist securely in his arms as his body went sailing over hers, causing McGonagall to roll with him until she found herself looking up at the headmaster pinned beneath him. Hermione couldn't be sure, but she thought that perhaps Professor Dumbledore was telling Professor McGonagall something as he pinned her. She saw the professor shake her head.

Hermione's giggles finally became uncontrollable as Professor McGonagall took a handful of snow and smacked it against Professor Dumbledore's temple, forcing him off her. She was instantly on her feet running from the befuddled headmaster. If Hermione thought her laughter was uncontrollable at that point, then it was utterly hysterical when she watched Dumbledore send a snowball towards McGonagall only to be left gaping as she transformed into a small tabby cat. It was when Hermione was doubled-over with laughter Harry and Ron found her on the staircase.

"Oi, Hermione!"

"What are you laughing at?" Harry looked confused at her then at Ron who simply shrugged.

"I'm sorry Harry, Ron. I was on my way to meet you in the Common Room when," Hermione said slowly taking control of her giggles, "I noticed the professors out the window. You won't believe what they're doing."

Harry and Ron quickly glanced at each other before walking over to the window Hermione indicated with a jerk of her head. Ron let out a roar of laughter and a broad grin spread across Harry's face as they watched a very amused Dumbledore pelting snowballs at a small, grey tabby cat as it quickly and systematically destroyed his three snowmen.

"I can't believe McGonagall is having a snowball fight," Harry said trying to keep his voice from breaking up with laughter. "I can understand Dumbledore; he's always been strange like that."

"May-maybe she's finally snapped," Ron said unable to hold back his own laughter.

All three looked out the window again and were struck with a new wave of snickers as the tabby cat began doing figure-eights between the headmaster's feet making his head swivel absurdly on his shoulders.

"You have to admit though," Hermione was the first to regain speech, "McGonagall is getting the best of him."

"Yeah," Ron and Harry answered simultaneously wiping tears from their eyes.

"Let's go down to the Great Hall then," Harry suggested.

"Could we go back to the Common Room so I can drop off a few things?" Hermione asked.

"Alright then." They took one last fleeting look out the window before heading back up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Part II**_

_Well played, my dear!_ Dumbledore thought to himself when McGonagall changed to her animagus form. Watching her dart between his legs gave him the urge to bring his foot down on her tail just to stop her, but the realization that he would be doomed to a week of wicked glares and possibly several cat scratches kept his foot planted in the snow. He decided some enchanted snowballs were a better option. Dumbledore bewitched a couple snowballs to follow the cat as it ran frantically as to not get hit. He laughed merrily at her attempts to escape her pursuers until he found her sprinting straight for him. She ran through his legs, and as he watched her, Dumbledore forgot about the enchanted snowballs until they pelted him in the stomach.

After steadying himself from the unexpected blow, the headmaster looked up to once again see the tabby sprinting towards him. Dumbledore bent his knees to prepare for her to attack and held his arms open for her. The cat leapt into air. While in mid-air, McGonagall transformed back to her original body, and Dumbledore's eyes widened in realization only too late. He caught the flying McGonagall in his arms but was thrown off his feet by the sheer force of the impact.

Dumbledore landed flat on his back with McGonagall straddling him. Her breath was heavy and fast from running, but her face glowed with delight as her cheeks were flushed from cardio or cold, Dumbledore couldn't tell. They looked at each other for a moment. McGonagall's lips trembled before she burst with laughter, inviting Dumbledore to join in. She leaned down on him as he brought his arms around her to embrace her. They laughed while hugging until McGonagall was able to regain control of herself.

"You really should have seen your face when I transformed, Albus," she said lifting herself out of his arms though keeping him pinned beneath her.

"I'm sure you would have the same expression if you prepared for a cat only to be trampled by a full-grown woman," Dumbledore retorted in mock severity wiping away a stray tear. He looked McGonagall up and down before asking, "Are you going to get off, my dear?"

She brought a finger to her lips as her eyes lifted in contemplation. "No, I don't believe I will."

He gazed slightly incredulously at her. "And why not?"

McGonagall put her fists on her hips and said sternly, "This is payback for your trickery with the snowmen and for tackling me earlier. That," she poked him playfully in the chest, "was not fair, Albus." With that, she folded her arms across her chest in triumph.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her. Then, he scooped a handful of snow and cuffed it to her face. Just as he was caught off guard, McGonagall stumbled off the headmaster to lie in the snow beside him. After the shock of what happened passed, the two professors broke out in frenzied laughter. They laid together in the snow for what seemed ages until their breath was once again even.

Dumbledore let out a small sigh before he got to his feet. He brushed off some snow before offering his hand to McGonagall. She took it. Once most of the snow was no longer clinging to them, McGonagall looked at Dumbledore.

"Thank you."

He returned her gaze and smiled. "Sometimes it is best to lose one's self in nonsense. A little insanity helps one keep their sanity."

She nodded. "As much of a contradiction as that is, I can't help but agree."

Dumbledore noticed her shiver. "Allow me," he said as he took out his wand. With a flick of his wrist, both professors felt a gust of warm air flow down them as their cloaks dried and heated their bodies from the outside in. McGonagall smiled her gratitude to him.

"I believe it is time we arrived for lunch, Albus."

"I concur, Minerva." He took her arm in his and led her to the Great Hall. Recollections of their battle in the snow was the topic of discussion as the two professors made their way to the Entrance Hall. Both paused to Vanish their cloaks to their private chambers before Dumbledore pushed the enormous doors to the Great Hall open. McGonagall followed suit and strode at her usually brisk pace. Professors Sprout and Flitwick were gathered near the head table deep in conversation when McGonagall joined them.

"Filius, the Chudley Cannons are by far the most abysmal team in Quidditch. How could you possibly believe they would stand a chance against the Branded Banshees of Scotland?" Sprout threw at Flitwick with the tiniest hint of a frown on her face.

In his bright, squeaky voice, Flitcwick answered, "I like to support the team that seems unlikely to win for the season in hopes they will prevail!"

"Always the optimistic Filius," McGonagall chuckled leaning down to pat the Charms professor on the shoulder.

"My, my, Minerva," Sprout pointed at her cheeks, "your face is awfully flush."

"It's ruddy cold outside," McGonagall smiled at the plump witch.

All three professors' heads turned when they heard a tiny 'pop.' Dumbledore was down on one knee talking to a very enthusiastic house elf. Beaming, the headmaster nodded and patted the bouncy little elf on the head before it disappeared with an identical 'pop.'

He gingerly got to his feet and turned to his attention to the huddled group "If you'll permit me," he said indicating they should stand aside. The three professors obliged. Dumbledore took out his wand and pointed at the house tables separately vanishing them completely. He levitated the head table to the center of the hall simultaneously reducing its size. Twelve chairs came zooming from the front of the hall and placed themselves at equal intervals around the table. Dumbledore transfigured a festive cloth for the table before stowing his wand in his robes.

He walked to the head of the table where he was joined by the professors.

"I'm told there are only six students staying for the holidays. It seemed ridiculous to use house tables for twelve people," he smiled brightly at them. "Shall we?"

He pulled out McGonagall's chair as Flitwick imitated the gesture for Sprout. Both witches sat opposite one another and immediately began discussing the progress of the Herbology teacher's personal garden of herbs. Flitwick scrambled up the seat to Professor Sprout's right as Dumbledore eased himself down into the one between the two witches at the head of the table. After a few minutes, Dumbledore's attention to the conversation wandered as Professor Snape followed by Filch made their way into the Hall. He chuckled as the Potions master grimaced at the solitary table. Snape took the seat to McGonagall's left nodding to her. She responded with a small, elegant bow of her head before returning her attentions to Professor Sprout.

Drinks appeared on the table as a couple frightened first year students wandered to the table taking the seats farthest from the professors. Not shortly after the first years arrived then a Slytherin student came, frowning at having either to sit near the teachers or the first years. He reluctantly sat next to Professor Flitwick, who instantly struck up a friendly conversation. After Harry, Ron and Hermione filled the remaining chairs, food appeared and everyone began to tuck in.

When, surprisingly, Professor Trelawney arrived, Dumbledore conjured a chair for her between McGonagall and Snape. There was some nonsense about thirteen people at the table before McGonagall persuaded her to sit. The meal went pleasantly enough, with Dumbledore managing to keep his snickers hidden every time McGonagall and Trelawney had at it.

After two hours of gorging themselves with and food and enjoying a fair amount of holiday crackers, the students stood to leave. Hermione, however, stayed behind as Harry and Ron left for the Common Room.

She came up between the headmaster and McGonagall asking, "Could I have a word with you, Professor?"

McGonagall nodded and excused herself from the table.

She led Hermione a few feet from the staff then inquired, "What is it Miss Granger?" The young witch was clearly agitated by something.

"It's just that Harry was sent something in the mail."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Professor, it was a Firebolt," Hermione pleaded to a certain extent. "There was no letter attached to it, and Harry has no idea who could have sent it. I told him he should have reported it, but…" she trailed off.

McGonagall nodded. "You were wise to tell me, Miss Granger." She gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Come, let's go have a look."

Hermione returned her smile weakly as she turned to leave the hall with McGonagall following.

Dumbledore's eyes discreetly followed the progress of the two witches out of the hall before redirecting his attention back to Flitwick who had begun a tale about magical callouses.


	3. Chapter 3

_Part Three_

Professor McGonagall was swiftly marching through the corridors with the Firebolt in hand making her way to her office. Why on earth that boy didn't have the mind to report such a potentially dangerous item, and now of all times, was beyond her. Of all the stupid things to keep hidden from the staff, this might make one of the top.

This, however, couldn't top what happened her sixth year of becoming Head of Gryffindor house. Some poor girl had thought it best to not report transfiguring her four-poster into a billywig which then flew through the open window and most likely ended up an ingredient in one of Professor Slughorn's potions. The darling girl ended up sleeping a terribly uncomfortable cot she and her fellow sixth years managed to conjure out of one of their curtains. Unfortunately for them, the spell was a bit twitchy and would revert back to curtains at unexpected times, usually when she was sleeping. When she had finally confessed to 'misplacing her bed' as she had called it at the time, she also admitted to bruising in her spine and spent the next week in the Hospital Wing being sorted out by Master Quincy. When McGonagall had questioned her friends why they had stayed silent on the issue, they confessed to being terrified of what she might have done to them for losing school property. Cornelia was her name. Poor dear never finished with her Transfiguration N.E.W.T.'s.

At least in Potter's case, he had a slightly better reason for keeping this broom hidden from her. If she were honest with herself, she too would most likely not hand over any Firebolt she could manage to claim as hers. As she walked, she looked closely at the model, the shape, and durability of the wood. It really was the most high quality broom she had ever been privileged to lay eyes on let alone hold in her hand. She would give anything to test out how it felt in the air. But the professor within told her that not only could it potentially harm anyone who rides it, Potter would most likely not appreciate his Transfiguration professor riding his broom before he does or at all for that matter.

As she came to this conclusion, McGonagall found herself at her office door. Quickly passing through the large wooden door, she placed the broom securely in a wardrobe with protective and security spells. Locking her door with a flick of her wand as she strode down the corridor, she made her way back to the Great Hall to rejoin the staff and have a quick word with Flitwick. An eerie silence still evaded the hallways and sent tiny shivers down McGonagall's arms as her boots reverberated about the stone walls.

Within no time, she found herself passing through the doors of the Entrance Hall. The tiniest hint of a smile crossed her features at the display before her. Sprout was sitting next to Trelawney having her palm scrutinized by the Divination hack. The poor dear; if it weren't for the bemused expression that crossed her friend's face when she briefly made eye contact with her, McGonagall would have thought the strained appearance would be from frustration rather than an effort stifle her giggles. She could no longer see Snape amongst the staff, and Flitwick was standing on her chair enthusiastically recreating a scene from some muggle play before Dumbledore. He had an extremely wide grin plastered across his face as deep chuckles resonated from within. McGonagall casually took the set to Dumbledore's right. She met his questioning eyes with a nod of her head, silently willing him to ask later.

"Wash your hand, put on your nightgown," Flitwick squealed in what might have passed as feminine, "look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave." He gave an enormous gasp, practically screaming, "Even so?"

Dumbledore let out a contagious chuckle as Flitwick lost his footing and plopped down into the chair almost bashing his chin against the table top.

"Do be careful my good man!"

"But you should have seen her Albus. One might have thought the poor woman was deranged by guilt herself, not just acting."

"Reenacting the Scottish play are we?" McGonagall piped in as she filled her goblet with wine.

"Oh yes!" Flitwick squeaked also making for his own goblet.

"Filius was demonstrating his favorite spot in the play just now," Dumbledore explained.

"The sleepwalking scene," McGonagall nodded. "Yes, I remember that clearly."

"Indeed?" Flitwick asked clapping his hands together in excitement.

"How could I not? It is perhaps one of my favorite parts of the play. 'Out, damned spot! Out I say.' How one could not sense her pain and guilt is unbelievable."

"Which scene do you enjoy the most, my dear?" Dumbledore questioned politely.

"Without doubt when she persuades Macbeth to murder Duncan," McGonagall answered instantly.

Dumbledore frowned slightly. "A rather dark scene would you not say?"

She nodded, "Perhaps, but it demonstrates the many layers of Lady Macbeth, layers which we all have and yet chose not to display even to those we are most close to."

"I must agree with Minerva, Albus," Flitwick rejoined the conversation.

"Pray tell, what is your favorite scene, Headmaster?" McGonagall turned towards Dumbledore.

His gazed turned upward as he answered wistfully, "The cauldron scene with the Weird Sisters. 'Double double, toil and trouble.' The rhyming is rather magical." He hummed a small tune before gazing back at his companions, "And then they prophesied the coming of Macbeth. 'Something wicked this way comes.' It sends shivers through my blood every time."

"I should have known," McGonagall mumbled behind her goblet. He chuckled.

"Do tell Minerva," Flitwick slurred slightly, "how you've come to know the play."

"I believe I can answer that one, Filius!" Dumbeldore straightened in his chair. Placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward, he said in a lower, slightly more serious voice, "Our dear Professor McGonagall hails from the magnificent country of Scotland and is most likely descended from an illegitimate child of Macbeth's from his excursions on the battelfield. This play is her ancestory and memorizing it has become part of her ancestral rite of passage."

"The cheek!" McGonagall gasped as Flitwick erupted with giggles and then spluttering gasps as his drink did not sit well.

Dumbledore clapped him on the back gently. "Easy, Filius."

"I do-" he coughed, "believe this indicates I shoul-" another cough, "should stop for tonight." Taking a few small, steadying breaths, Flitwick jumped from his chair. "Good evening Albus, Minerva."

"Filius, before you go," McGonagall said causing the shorter man to look over his shoulder, "Could I ask you stop by my office later? There is something I would very much like you to look at."

"Of course," he smiled.

She watched as he trotted towards the door before calling after him, "Perhaps it can waiting until after the Christmas holidays." He merely waved his hand in acknowledgement before walking through the double doors and out of the Great Hall.

"I do hope the poor fellow isn't feeling too terribly tomorrow," Dumbledore chuckled.

"Hmm," she answered sipping her wine.

His gaze fell upon her. Leaning back in his chair, he waited for her to begin the conversation.

She looked him square on and answered his unasked question. "It has to do with Potter," was all she said.

"Ah," he sighed with a bow to his head. "Perhaps it is best we adjourn this conversation to my office?"

"Of course," she answered setting her goblet down and rising from her chair. Dumbeldore followed suit and made his way to McGonagall's side before setting down the table.

Professor Sprout looked up from her conversation with Trelawney.

"Dear Pamona, would you be so kind as to clean up after you and Sybil have finished?" Dumbledore asked politely, nodding to a teetering Trelawney who was threatening to fall from her chair at any moment.

"Of course Dumbledore. Good night."

"Good night."

"Shall we have Christmas tea tomorrow, Minerva?"

"It sounds delightful, Pomona. Sleep well."

They strolled out of the Great Hall and through the Grand Staircase.

"It appears Sybil has been favoring the sherry tonight," McGonagall clipped after a brief silence.

"I like to believe she uses so much sherry to enter a world which finally accepts and understands her abilty," Dumbledore replied whimsically. "Yet another connection she has with the spirits."

She shook her head. "I refuse to rise to the bait, Albus."

"There is no bait. I truly believe what I've said," Dumbeldore's became serious but not disapproving. McGonagall did not respond.

Arriving at the stone gargoyle, Dumbledore sang out "Licorice Twist" before facing his companion.

"After you, my dear."


End file.
